


Pennant

by Kingbird



Series: Threads of Fate [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, and also a bit of an idiot, but he's doing his best, kael'thas is a baby, people still died, the Quel'dorei still become Sin'dorei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27076390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingbird/pseuds/Kingbird
Summary: “We are going to see this through, Lor. I promise.” He uses the nickname though he thinks he probably shouldn’t, but the brief surprise and then slight softening of the stress in Lor’themar’s face is worth it, breaking the mask of duty for a moment.“I’m going to hold you to that, Princeling,”In the aftermath of Arthas's failed attack on Silvermoon, Kael'thas Sunstrider takes his first steps forwards as leader.
Relationships: Kael'thas Sunstrider & Lor'themar Theron, Rommath & Kael'thas Sunstrider
Series: Threads of Fate [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1976062
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

No one would have ever dreamed of seeing Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider, Acolyte of Al’ar, Heir to the Throne of Quel’thalas, Archmage of the Kirin’tor, part of the Council of Six of Dalaran seated at a deeply scarred, battered table in the middle of an equally battered pub. Kael’thas finds himself in a similar state of disbelief. 

But then, his presence in a bar is not the only thing that would have rendered the scene unrecognizable to most viewers. The young prince has put his cloak over the back of the wobbling wooden chair, and it pools on the ashen ground, fine silk amidst the ruin. 

And it is ruin.

The wall to his left barely qualifies, stones cling to wooden supports and little where else, allowing Kael a clear view of the wreckage that sprawls outside between the columns, worse than here. There is at least a roof here, but the remnants of buildings stretch as far as the eye can see like a dragon graveyard. He is trying to ignore it, trying to bring his bright blue eyes to the reports in front of him, to not look at the destruction that awaits him outside, or bring a pitying gaze to the guards who stand in front of these gaps in the wall. They are vigilant, but he knows they must also be exhausted. Grieving. 

That’s one paper- casualty reports. Several papers, really. A stack. The list of names of those missing or dead is most of it. Names fitted, four columns deep front and back of each piece of parchment. Civilians, mostly, caught in their simple homes out in the wood. Farstriders too; though how many are dead and how many are just missing is a question mark. He brings his thumb absently to a particular inlaid ring even as he picks up one of the papers in that stack. 

The Farstriders had torn through the wood after Arthas, their rare ire raised, and in his heart for all the harsh words that his advisors had for their disobedience he couldn’t blame them. Sylvanas Windrunner was a thorn in his side, a nuisance, proud and cold and demeaning. And one of his best friends. And now…. both she and those under her banner had been twisted against their will into weapons against Quel’thalas. There was a howl in his heart to follow them. He could not, so instead, he mused, he would sanction their wild hunt in his stead, for what he wished he could do. The angry demands about the farstriders at least, he was able to set aside far from his stack of more pressing matters. 

His people needed guidance from him, he was the absent prince who did not much want that title. Much less the one that loomed before him. Kael’thas sank into his chair more, shoulders drooping. King. His father was dead, his body carefully kept in one of the upper rooms. It was strange to think about. Kael tried not to, but it was a tangle of issues that tied into a slew of others. He needed to think about it. 

The Prince pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, willing the exhaustion and lethargy away. Thinking, he mused, would be easier if the Sunwell weren’t so strangely muted. This bears more immediate urgency, but he’s already put Rommath on the task. He will have to wait until he learns more from his friend on what exactly Dar’khan did to their font of power. Without it, many other efforts stalled. 

There were concerns about food- there were vast swathes of land in a tear-drop loop through Quel’thalas that still crawled with the Scourge. Not to mention that they’d made some sort of nest or something in the flanks of the surrounding mountains, where the Dead Scar as it was being called came to brush up against the slopes. And worse was that it seeped into the flora and fauna. Loyal lynxes turned upon their handlers, tame Dragonhawks grew bloodthirsty. And where once Farstriders had walked easy among the eaves of the deepest parts of Eversong, now other horrors had apparently begun to walk. New enemies… and old. Troll signs, the sharp tang of hexes and curses were in the air again. It wasn’t safe to hunt, their food stores were gone or contaminated… 

It all seemed so… hopeless. 

_Peace_ A voice counseled, _If there is naught but ashes, you must make them your rebirth._

“Yes, you’re right.” Kael echoed aloud, weakly, and felt the phoenix’s attention drift from him again. Al’ar had been Kael’s companion since they were both born. But for Al’ar, this was not his first lifetime, nor would it be his last. The creature was purposefully vague and ominous in his wording, but Kael drew the meaning he needed from them. The phoenix-god was an unshakeable certainty in the midst of all the hopelessness, and Kael felt the despair ease from his mind a little. 

Kael’thas returned his attention to the largest stack of papers. Anastaerian, the casualties, those missing or left to an unholy fate. Certainty in an uncertain time. His people needed to mourn, but like him they must take up the mantle set before them, even if it didn’t mean what it used to. “A new rebirth…” he mused, echoing Al’ar’s sentiment. He took in a breath, reached for fresh papers, and began to draft the start of his plan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kael'thas appoints Lor'themar Regent-Lord, but first makes things awkward.

With the ceremony over, a large part of the weight lifted from Kael’s shoulders, but still, some things remained. The grief on his peoples’ faces still haunted him. But their resolve in the wake of his words, of the things he had asked for them told him he had made the right choice. For now, they had a goal. They would bring Al’ar’s purifying fires to the stretches of the wood which could not be saved from corruption, and then rebuild. 

Rommath remained helplessly frustrated at what had been done to the Sunwell. Clearly it had been altered in some way to fit whatever foul purpose Arthas had in mind for it, but with Dar’khan dead and the ranger who had slain him in little better shape, it was mystifying what exactly had been done. Sometimes it was fine. Sometimes it barely was able to keep the runestones active. If the Amani made encroachments now, there was little that could be done to stop them. 

And even worse were the rumors of the Scourge in Lordaeron, how their numbers swelled like vermin. Quel’thalas could not survive another assault. The Farstriders who had departed the shelter of Quel’thalas to hunt Arthas had not sent word back yet, either. They were truly in the dark. 

He was still thinking, looking morosely at the brick when someone opened the door. There’s less holes now and he bets by tomorrow there might be a whole smoothly plastered wall. He wanted no sign in the city of Arthas’s vengeful razing of it as he’d retreated back the way he’d come. They knew so little now, but they needed safety. Stability. A feeling that things were under their control once more. So the city needed to be rebuilt in as much splendor as possible, to shield them once again from the horrors that lay outside Quel’thalas. 

Lor’themar Theron still walks like a Ranger himself, and makes no sound on the creaky tavern floors, nor does he accidentally kick or scuff the plaster and rubble that remains scattered throughout it. Kael’thas looks towards Lor’themar with his eyes as he comes into view, but keeps his head still propped on his knuckles so he can see the activity outside. 

“I noticed that you said nothing of our missing Rangers in your address, Prince Kael’thas,” Begins Lor’themar without preamble. Kael’thas resists the urge to smile. It would be patronizing. Lor’themar is not used to kissing ass as much as the other nobles that would normally come in his stead are. He would see no point in plastering the tired prince with praise and optimistic feedback before moving on with why he was really here. But some things need more context. 

“What more could I say that has not been already?” Kael’thas answers with a rueful smile, at last straightening and looking at the other man as he gestured at the stack of suggestions, complaints and fears. “Please, sit, Ranger-General.” 

Lor’themar always looks pained when anyone asks him to stop and sit or rest or anything of the sort which is at least a sliver of the reason Kael does it now. The title he invokes on purpose, as strange as it sounds rolling off his tongue to this broad-shouldered man instead of his hard-hearted friend. It’s even stranger to Lor’themar, even now, and the ranger sits stiffly. Kael’thas lets the silence settle over them a moment, before Lor’themar’s shoulders start to stoop a little, and the man reached absently to fiddle with the bandages that crisscrossed his haggard face. Kael doubted he looked much better, or else Lor’themar would have been too proud to let his own exhaustion show. 

“I feel like we are taking steps in a good direction,” Begins Kael’thas mildly, “Thanks to you, people were able to be reunited with their families much faster than I’d anticipated. Despite everything, morale is… getting better.” Lor’themar says nothing. Kael muses wryly that now he’s the one kissing ass, but he knows the General is going to dislike his next few “steps” forward. 

“But…?” Lor’themar hedges after a moment. 

“But I fear it is not enough to rebuild Quel’thalas. The Sunwell is still unstable, and the affect that is having on us is… troubling, to say the least.” His brows furrow. Lor’themar’s single eye darts to the large, ornate file that lies directly before Kael’thas. It is from Rommath, and he had delivered it himself some days ago. “Everyone knows this, even if we are too tentative to voice it. And the matter of food and medical supplies…” 

He can see Lor’themar tensing, clenching his jaw as though each point stacking against his people is one he put there himself. He cares, so deeply. 

“We must venture back out,” Says Kael, “I have heard that Arthas has holed himself up in Lordaeron once more, but that he is harried on so many fronts by each foe that he has brought on himself. And Rommath tells me that the plague that infects our wildlife cannot hurt us. I think…” Broaches the prince, “I think we must look to what remains of the Alliance my father left. If we can offer refuge for those whose homes were destroyed, I think we can barter for food and other supplies to tide us over.” 

Lor’themar’s expression is hesitant. Kael’thas had no idea which side of the debate the then Ranger-Lord had fallen on, but most Farstriders did enjoy observing the other peoples of the land as much as Kael’thas had. It was one of the few things they had in common, “If not, at the very least we must see what became of our lost Rangers. I am worried for them,” Kael’thas admitted, hoping his sincerity came through. 

By the tentative softening of Lor’themar’s sharp features he guessed it had. 

“Then by your leave, Prince, I shall gather my-“

“No, Lor’themar,” Kael’thas’s voice breaks in gently, “My friend, you are still healing. Lady Liadrin tells me your eye still weeps blood, and that many of your other injuries were infected.” Kael’s eyes move guiltily away from the anger and resentment that have already made Lor’themar look harsh again. No doubt that Liadrin betrayed him to Kael’thas, and that Kael dared to tell him no, after everything. “Injuries that you got because you were protecting my people when I should have been there,” He finished more quietly. 

“So you will leave again?” Lor’themar’s voice is harsh, angry, raising in something not quite a shout, and Kael resists the urge to look down and sink into his chair like a chastised novice. Lor’themar has such an effortless command of everyone, even him. He takes in a breath, and steels himself. He is still a prince. He may not be so much of a presence as Lor’themar Theron had become, but he was still a Sunstrider. 

“Yes.” He says plainly, “But I will not leave my people leaderless,” The prince continued, his voice gaining strength, “No, I have spoken to the survivors and the warriors who fought against Arthas. They all had one name on their lips when it came to praises,” He can’t help the longing that enters his voice.

“Kael’thas, I know you feel you cannot be Anastaerian but-“

“It was yours, Lor’themar,” Kael corrects, now his tone is firm. He cannot falter here. He cannot seem like he is just fishing for Lor’themar’s agreement in this. “Not my father’s. Not mine. Not Belo’vir. It was yours.” And Sylvanas, but that was moot. He would not bring Lor’themar’s own grief into this now. He had hurt the man enough already without that low blow. They each had their own great shadows to step out of. 

Lor’themar looks shocked… and then confused, “...me?” And Kael’thas wants to laugh at the baffled question. He doesn’t, though he keeps his smile, and raises his chin a little. He hopes it's assuring. 

“Yes, Ranger-general. You. You who came from the far reaches of our forest in the hour of our need, calling every peasant and noble alike under your banner. You who rallied Silvermoon, you who protected its people on the isle of Quel’danas.” You who remembered to save the body of my father before it, too, fell prey to the corruption on the beach… 

“There was not a civilian I spoke to who did not have a tale of how you, despite your position and your title and your pain, helped them personally. Lost parents and children, stuck livestock, families trapped in buildings. You were everywhere you needed them to be.” His voice is wavering, stupidly, because he’s on the edge of tears with gratitude that he can’t properly express, not when he’s about to ask so, so much more… Lor’themar is quiet, and raw-eyed too, like he doesn’t know what to say. 

“They still need you here, Lor’themar. Even without your injuries, I would want you to remain. I am a Prince. I have lived my life in comfort, far from the battlefield. But I do have my connections still, among the other kingdoms. Let us both do what we can for them, in our own ways.” His voice has turned pleading, despite himself. He can’t have the assured coldness his father seemed to adopt, the emotional distance that he kept from everyone. 

Lor’themar is thinking, his brows furrowing; Kael can see some of the red and angry skin peer from the bandages. “...I understand.” He says at last. It’s not an agreement, but it’s a a start. Kael takes the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, bringing his hand back at his face to rub it a little. 

“I knew you would. I am sorry if you still do not agree,” Kael says, hoping that softens things a little. It’s so difficult to tell with the Ranger, and the man offers nothing else in response. He’s unusually good at hiding things, even to Kael who is somewhat used to being around sneaky politicians. Lor’themar is just the type to keep his duties from his personal feelings, and while it’s a great boon, Kael feels a little badly he allowed their once-friendship to die so thoroughly that Lor’themar keeps his feelings to himself. 

“My father was a great king,” Kael says after a moment, trying to regain some composure and footing. Lor’themar regards him coolly, still unreadable. “But… I am not my father. I cannot… rule this kingdom I think, even under better circumstances by myself. And neither am I content to allow nameless, faceless nobles and magisters handle things either. That’s what got us into this mess, let us face it,” He says wearily. 

“And our people need to feel like there is structure, structure that they’ve had a say in. That they had a degree of control over. When I asked them, who they would wish to lead them in this or that project that they were working on, well, they all asked for you,” Kael said, spreading his palms apart in sort of a helplessly amused gesture. 

“I understand, I will remain here while you go to seek allies,” Lor’themar says, his voice polite and echoing Kael’s earlier words. There’s frustration there too, like this discussion is stretching past Lor’themar’s patience. 

“I need you to do more than stay,” Kael’thas begins, hoping his voice sounds sure, and not wavering and quiet, “The people need you, and they see you as a leader. Someone they can trust and depend on. I need someone like that at my side. Not just as a Ranger-General, but more,” The prince says, and sees Lor’themar’s eye widen a fraction of a second… before Kael’thas’s brain catches up to the words he just said, and instantly feels his face heat up- By the Light he’d been really sticking his foot in his mouth lately-

“As my Regent,” he rushes to finish. “As the Regent-Lord.” Kael is sure he is beet red, “Since I’m new at this. And you did a good job when I wasn’t here.” He chances a look at Lor’themar, and flushes anew at the sheer amusement glittering in that single eye now. And as much as he’s embarrassed, he’s a little glad about it. He can tell that Lor’themar wants to tease him for a moment, like they had used to rib each other about one fling or the other. But he restrains himself, and that unreadable mask falls over his features again. 

Kael takes a moment to compose himself for a number of reasons he doesn’t want to think about right at that moment, and takes a breath. “My father risked so much, putting most of the power of the Kingdom on his own shoulders. No one person could bear that burden alone. When I was in Dalaran, I liked… the way they did things a little more? It was like the convocation, but the number of voices was fewer, and based on skill, on accomplishments not… bloodlines,” He begins. It’s best to bury his thoughts in the politics, not his raw, wildly swinging emotional state. But he can tell Lor’themar is listening now. “And even though there was definitely someone in charge of the council, no one voice could overrule the others. Until we get back on our feet, and can fill out a real convocation, I want something similar.” 

“And so my appointment as…. “Regent-lord”...?” Lor’themar asks, cautiously, not necessarily with any sort of eagerness. 

“Would not be temporary, no. Even when I am back, I want you and others to help rule our people. Individuals our people can trust and turn to, who they feel understand the things they have been through and the lives they have led.” Kael’thas explained, his voice taking on a note of excitement. 

Lor’themar found himself nodding, despite his own reservations, pondering Kael’thas’s words. Kael let him think a few moments, rearranging some of the stacks of paper on the table.

“We can… discuss more when I return from Lordaeron, about who those other people should be,” He allowed himself more of a smile, “You can warm the others to the idea; I’m sure everyone will be happy to see some measure of normalcy returning with promotions and such, despite the circumstances. Whatever decisions you are comfortable making in that regard, I entrust them to you.” 

“...I am honored,” Lor’themar finally said, taking in a breath. Kael could tell he was still doubtful, but words weren’t going to fix that. Still his own relief that the man had accepted this responsibility was nearly palpable, selfish as that was.

“The honor is mine, please,” The prince tried to reassure him, “And Lor’themar…. thank you. For everything.” He said, rising from his chair and reaching to briefly clasp Lor’themar’s hands. They were shaking slightly, and calloused, and a little cold. He let the ranger- former ranger, now, pull away. 

“We are going to see this through, Lor. I promise.” He uses the nickname though he thinks he probably shouldn’t, but the brief surprise and then slight softening of the stress in Lor’themar’s face is worth it, breaking the mask of duty for a moment.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Princeling,” Lor’themar returns, and Kael grins wide at that, snorting as the blonde turned to leave with that uplifting statement.

“Of course you will. Dismissed, Regent-Lord,” Kael says, lifting his chin proudly and haughtily, “And, Regent-Lord?” Lor’themar turned to look at him from over his shoulder, “There will be a ceremony. Don’t be late.” 

The grimace, and quick retreat of the ranger who so hated pomp and circumstance is worth it, too.


End file.
